


Howl

by CloudDreamer



Series: Theater of Tragicomedy [11]
Category: Homestuck, Homestuck Epilogues
Genre: BAMF Rose Lalonde, F/F, POV Second Person, The Homestuck Epilogues: Candy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-01
Updated: 2019-09-01
Packaged: 2020-10-05 03:00:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20481743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CloudDreamer/pseuds/CloudDreamer
Summary: You are Rose Lalonde. You are a freedom fighter. You are a lover.You are not afraid.





	Howl

Here is how it goes. 

Your heart pounds like a heavy drum in your chest. Adrenaline courses through your body, sharpening your vision and pushing you further. You are too fast for gravity to catch you. Your movements are reckless, and you are unfettered. You are hunted, but those who follow you don’t understand that they should be the ones running. You flee, but you are the predator. 

There is a flame beneath your skin that’s itching to ignite, but you keep running. Your once white dress is stained with the dirt of the forest’s earth. Your nails are sharp razors, ready to spill blood. This night is filled with inky blackness, shadows cast from the pale moon in the sky. An army fallows you. An entire army, just for one lone god. 

A ring weighs heavy on your finger— a promise that you will not be broken. You are a god, but you are also a monster. Your canines are sharp. 

You’re a god of light and not the shadows that you lurk in, but that does not make you powerless. Indeed, it is in this twisted dark that you thrive. You climb through trees, and your skin is torn by purple thorns, dripping with green. The blood you leave behind makes you easy to trace, letting them think they’ve got you on the ropes. But there is no exhaustion creeping up on you like there is on them.

Shadows are merely the reflection of light, carved in the negative spaces of reality, and you cast the darkest of them all. 

You whisper words beneath your breath and those behind you with their flashlights and guns think you are praying. They say they are almost at you, that they will catch you and they will kill you. You are only immortal in obscurity, and if you are slain, they think, it will be forever because you are fallen. A heretic. They are badly mistaken if they believe they could kill you at all. 

You stop, suddenly, in the heart of the seemingly endless forest. All around your feet is a circle of growth so much more defined than the rest. Red berries grow on dark jade bushes. The branches seem to reach outwards, sharpened to points and catching those invaders who wish to categorize the world into things as simple as profit. 

Once upon a time, before the game, before the invention of factories and steam powered weapons of war, humans feared the night and trolls feared the day for the same reasons— they did not understand what lurked there. Those who ventured past the safety of the walls those much more sensible than they had constructed found themselves torn to pieces or irreparably changed. 

You did not live in the time of blood and bone. You were raised in the comfort of concrete walls and instructed in science, in mathematics, and in what you were told was an indisputable truth. But that world burned in fire and rain as you took a leap of faith into the darkness you’d always been drawn to. 

And when you closed your eyes, you opened them anew, with violet lightning crackling inside your chest, barely contained by your fragile human ribcage. The magic that old world had promised had rules, like its science had promised, but it was only in your reckless abandon that you found truth. 

You were promised answers by someone claiming to know everything, but he lied without ever muttering a falsehood and misled you every step of the way. You’d wanted yes or nos, but that world of easy answers was dead and so was she. You fell once, and you fell again, but you did not die. You were born anew in the light of the burning green sun that you created. 

The moon is red and bright in the cracked sky. Tonight, the veil between your world and that of the dreaming dead is so thin that you barely need to reach for the eldritch powers that you once believed bestowed upon you by ancient monsters. You didn’t understand, back then, that you didn’t need them. You never needed them.

All you needed was the ones you chose to love. 

Your beautiful wife slinks out of the darkness, lipstick in hand and another army behind her. She's radiant and ethereal, with every color of the rainbow in every facet of her skin. Her sharp teeth and golden eyes light up the dark, while your violet lightning halo absorbs the glow of the armies lights. You are eldritch.

It is only when you hold each other that you turn and face the oncoming storm. 

You live and love wildly, barefoot in these woods and laughing as they surround you. They are in perfect lines, ordered in artificial hierarchies, and they do not fear the night because they have their machines to light the way. They are complacent, and in this wild, complacencies is a death sentence. 

You are the executioners.


End file.
